


Meant to Be

by bad_peppermint



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anthropomorphic, Community: j2_everafter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_peppermint/pseuds/bad_peppermint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When toaster Jay gets left behind during a move, he'll move Heaven and Earth to be reunited with his beloved Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ever so much to the lovely lemanya for the fantastic and much appreciated last-minute beta. <3  
> And a huge thank you also to everybody at j2_everafter for making all this possible. It's been a blast. :)
> 
> When I was right smack in the middle of writing this, staying at my mother's house, her toaster gave up the ghost. One minute I was using it to make a sandwich and it was working fine, and when my brother came in half an hour later to grab some breakfast, it was dead.  
> Now, I'd just spent a good two days anthropomorphizing appliances and seriously cringed when my brother and mom decided to go buy a new one, but I kept my mouth shut. I still feel weirdly guilty. So Toaster, this fic is for you. I hope you're very happy in toaster heaven right now, and forgive me for not speaking up in your defense.

Jay is well aware that something is going on. He’s suspected for a while now, ever since Jensen started hesitating in his usually flawless morning routine; running his hand over a cupboard door, or resting his head against the refrigerator. Or maybe even before then, back when Jensen started spending his evenings reading bills at the kitchen table, ever deepening frown lines cutting into his face. Jensen is a pretty happy guy, all things considered, and it’s not like him to get upset over the kitchen island.

So when the boxes start appearing around the room, Jay can’t say he’s surprised. This isn’t the first time he’s moved, or even the second – he’s been through the process once during Jensen’s college years, and three times since then – and everything happens as he remembers. Mostly. Jensen packs up the stuff from the lower cupboards first, the bowls his mama gave him and the mixer, but there’s another box this time, sitting in the doorway, where Jensen puts the blender he’s only taken out of its box once and the reindeer cookie cutter set from Auntie May. He puts a few mugs and pots in there, too, sighing heavily each time, and after a while, he turns the box so the _GOODWILL_ written on the side is no longer visible.

That box has Jay’s wire insides coating with ice.

It gradually fills, thankfully not with Jay or any of Jensen’s appliances that he’s friendly with. The fruit press goes, but it’s terribly snooty anyway so Jay’s not too heartbroken. He spends two days listening to the press telling the cutting board next to it how it was so over being Jensen’s, anyway, so he really doesn’t feel bad. But he still wants to curl up into a tiny, inconspicuous ball when Jensen comes by one day and lugs the box away.

He comes back, later, with another, empty box. The fruit press stays gone.

Another couple of days after that, when most of the kitchen’s contents are packed away, Jensen hops up on the counter next to Jay while his bread is toasting.

“Man, I wish I could afford to stay here,” he says. “I like this place. And you like it, too, don’t you, Jay? Don’t lie, I know you do.”

Honestly, Jay couldn’t give a damn about the place as long as Jensen’s in it. Jensen is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. They’ve gone through several of Jensen’s break-ups together, miserable morning-afters following both alcohol benders and one-night-stands, celebratory PB&Js after exams and successful job interviews, and slow days with Jensen moaning and groaning about the stomach flu that prevents him from keeping anything down but toast.

Him and Jensen, they’re meant to be.

Danneel, though, Jay could do without. She’s a good friend to Jensen, he knows that, and he usually agrees with whatever nasty thing she has to say about Jensen’s fling of the day. However, as well as getting Jensen’s love life straightened out, she’s also made it a personal goal to ‘de-clutter’ Jensen’s life and get him to stop being so sentimental about his stuff, and Jay vehemently disagrees with her there.

Particularly because she seems to be dead set on getting Jay out of the house.

He doesn’t think it’s personal for her. Jay knows how much Jensen values her opinion, and so he’s made sure to always (okay, _almost_ always) toast her bread a nice, golden brown. She just loves having the newest, shiniest version of everything, and Jay can’t do anything except toast things, doesn’t even have those wires that pop up that you can put your rolls on. He’s the polar opposite of shiny.

Still, Jensen doesn’t seem to care because he fishes out his bread and the sliced turkey breast. Today must be an exhausting one – he usually goes for just jam in the morning unless he’s going to have to work really hard. Jay obediently lets his wires come to life when Jensen slides two pieces in, making sure to get both sides of each slice nice and even, not like some of those crappy new toasters he’s heard about.

Jensen rests his chilly fingertips against Jay’s side. “Gen’s gonna love you,” he says.

Jay chokes at that, toast springing upwards.

Jensen laughs and pushes the lever back down. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s not like I’m planning on dating her,” he says. “She’s just a cool chick with a really nice room for rent. Besides, I think she’s dating some TV actor or something.”

Jay, mollified, crackles his wires so Jensen’s bread ends up extra nice and crispy, just the way he likes it. Jensen is totally allowed to move in with some actor-dating chick. That’s fine with Jay.

“Yeah,” Jensen mutters, curling into his knees. “If I have to move, I guess this is the best option I could have gone with.”

Jay hums, wishing like hell that he were human so he could lay an arm around Jensen’s shoulders right now, because he looks like he needs it.

Instead, there’s a knock on the door, and Jensen straightens hastily.

“It’s open,” he calls, followed by the sound of the door swinging open and closed, and then heels in the hall. Danneel, then.

And, sure enough, she steps into the kitchen a moment later, flawlessly made up and impeccable in her designer clothes.

“Morning,” Jensen says, leaning down so she can kiss his cheek. “You ready for the last breakfast in this apartment?”

“I still can’t believe you want to take the toaster,” Danneel says, pulling two slices out of the bag and slotting them up.

“Danneel,” Jensen says patiently, “if you really think I’d give up the toaster, you don’t know me at all.”

Danneel rolls her eyes. “Look, I get that you’re attached to the thing, but it’s ancient. It’s like a dinosaur, only old. And it’s huge. You’re gonna need a box for the toaster alone.”

“I like ‘em big,” Jensen says with a wink.

“God, you’re such a freak,” Danneel sighs, and goes to push down Jay’s lever.

Jay makes sure the toast pops right back up, still limp and cold.

“Seriously?” Danneel mutters, trying – and failing – a second time. She groans. “Jen, this piece of shit doesn’t even work.”

“Don’t call him that,” Jensen scolds, pushing her aside. “He’s got personality, that’s all.” He pushes the lever down, gently hooking it to the right to make sure it latches. “And Jay, you behave. Danneel didn’t mean it like that.”

“Good God,” Danneel sighs. “And you’ve named it. You’ve probably kept all your old Legos, too, and every boarding pass you’ve ever had.”

Jay is sorely tempted to spit her stupid toast right back at her, but Jensen is in the way, and he’s scowling with enough disapproval for the both of them.

“There’s nothing wrong with collecting mementos,” he says primly. “Now go sit down, or you’re not getting a single beer can out of me tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danneel says, flopping down on the one chair that hasn’t gotten stacked up in the corner. “Are the guys gonna show up soon?”

“Yeah, Chris sent me a text. They’re stuck in traffic on the 405, but they’ll be here in half an hour or so.” Jensen picks up a plate and holds it out, and Jay makes sure to land both slices on it, neatly on top of each other. “So you can just sit there and catch me up on all the gossip, like I know you’re dying to.”

#

Jay finally ends up in a box just before noon, after all the furniture has been lugged out the door by an endless parade of people. He can’t help the jolt of panic, even when Jensen picks up him ever so carefully and neatly sets him down in a box next to Jeff, the old-fashioned telephone, and the Chevy Impala model that Jensen has sitting next to the TV as decorations. A moment later, before they’ve had the chance to do more than nod hello, they’re joined by SANDRA, the delicate little IKEA reading lamp.

“What’s happening?” she whispers. She sounds scared, and Jay has to remind himself that she’s new, barely six months old, and the only move she’s ever been a part of was from the store to the apartment.

“We’re moving,” Jeff whispers back.

Then they have to be quiet because Jensen comes back and puts down the post card stand that has a heart-shaped framed picture of some actor called Chad Michael Something as the base.

“Jen,” Danneel calls from somewhere. “What am I doing with your Kindle?”

“Throw it in my backpack or something,” Jensen yells back. He bends down and lifts the box into the air, Sandy just barely managing to quiet her shriek of surprise. They jerk and rattle, but Jensen is fairly careful maneuvering them out of the apartment and down the stairs, only bumping into a single doorframe on the way. And then they’re outside, blinking in the bright LA sunshine, Jensen’s building a tall shape to their right.

After a few more moments of walking, Jensen stops. “Alright,” he says. “Here we are.”

He sets the box down and Jay gets a half-second view of Jensen’s stubbly jawline and his wire-rim glasses before someone yells, “Jensen!” and Jay goes back to staring at cloud-dotted skies and half a palm tree.

For the longest time, nothing happens. Chad shifts uneasily against him, and the Chevy makes little whirring noises where it’s getting squashed underneath Jeff, but for the most part they sit quietly. They can’t afford to move. Someone could come by at any second.

Every once in a while, there are footsteps, and someone pushes the box they’re in aside, rattling them all down to their insides, but it seems to take forever before he can hear Jensen’s laugh.

“Thank God that’s over,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Someone else asks, “We got everything?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Jensen says.

There’s the sound of car doors slamming and the truck sputtering to life and then pulling away. And then nothing.

“What – what’s going on?” Sandy whispers.

“This can’t be right,” Jay whispers, more to himself than her. Jensen – Jensen wouldn’t just _leave_ them. Not after what he said that morning.

Then there are footsteps close by, and even as he stills, Jay feels a rush of hope. It could be Jensen, after all, who decided to park around the corner while he ran back to get the forgotten box.

But neither of the two faces, when they finally come into focus above them, belong to Jensen. They’re too old, too weather-beaten, and their teeth, when they smile, are yellow and crooked.

“Lookie,” one of them says. “Free shit.”

The other, who has a Lakers cap pulled down over his eyes, shakes his head. “Fucking rich people,” he says. “Rather leave their shit sitting out and buy new stuff after than make an extra trip.”

“Better for us,” the other one says, and they both reach down and lift one side.

“You wanna sell it now?” the capless one asks as they walk, Jay rattling painfully into Jeff’s side with each step.

“Let’s head to Maryana’s first,” Cap says. “She said she wanted a new lamp.” He chuckles. “Always best to stay in her good graces. Ready?”

They lift the box high into the air and let it thud down in what Jay assumes is a truck bed, and then there’s the sound of doors slamming. The surface underneath them rattles to life, sending all five of them skittering against each other. It’s like a painful parody of what should have happened with Jensen, and Jay chokes down a sob. Jensen isn’t ever going to find them now.

“Well this fucking sucks,” Chad says, pulling himself upright. He tilts into Jeff when the truck picks up speed, then back into Jay when it brakes with screeching tires.

Jay is inclined to agree with him, but Sandy looks all scandalized, and then the truck starts going faster and faster. They must be getting on the freeway. Shit. Something needs to happen, and quickly, or they’ll never manage to find their way back to the apartment.

Chad tilts into Jeff again who shrugs him off with a disgruntled expression.

“What do we do?” Sandy whispers.

The Chevy squeaks its wheels in agreement with the question.

“We have to get back to Jensen,” Jay says firmly. They just have to. There’s no other option.

“Oh really?” Chad asks. “After he left us to get picked up by scavengers?”

“That was a mistake,” Jay says.

Chad teeters mockingly back and forth. “Oh really?” he says. “So he just left us sitting by the side of the road by accident, even though he managed to pack everything else? He said he had everything, remember?” He turns away. “Jensen ditched us. Deal with it.”

“Jensen wouldn’t do that to us.” Sandy doesn’t sound very convinced of this, but at least she’s said it, even if Chad scoffs.

“Do we actually know that, though?” he asks. “Maybe he did want to get rid of us.” He makes a show of looking around. “I mean, none of us are things he couldn’t do without, are we?’

_You’re wrong,_ Jay wants to shout. _Jensen loves us._ Jensen loves _me_. Instead, he says, “Either way, I’m not sticking around to end up as some greasy guy’s punching bag. I’m getting out of here.”

“And how, pray tell?” Chad asks, leaning towards him with mockingly raised brows, but Jay is no longer listening.

“Okay,” he says. “First, we need to get out of this box.”

They peer upwards, but it’s high – even if they managed to lever Chad and Sandy and the Chevy over, Jay and Jeff would still be too big and too heavy.

“We could tear a hole in the side?” he says.

“I could try burning one,” Sandy says. “I’m battery powered.”

Chad snorts, and they all glare at him, but as much as Jay wants to, he’s not coming up with any brilliant solutions.

The Chevy growls a little and gives a sudden burst of speed, bumping into the cardboard.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’ll work,” Jay says, but then the Chevy does it again just as the truck takes a turn, and the entire box shudders.

“No, hey, it actually might,” Jay corrects himself. “Everyone get over here. Move when I say.”

They must be pretty far downtown now, because it’s not long before the truck takes another sharp turn. 

Jay yells “Now!” to Jeff, and they throw themselves against the side of the box.

For one long, terrible moment, nothing happens. Then the box tips, ever so slowly, before it lands hard on its side and they go spilling over and into the truck’s bed.

So far, so good.

“Everyone okay?” Jeff asks, and they slowly right themselves. Chad’s clip is crooked and Sandy looks a little dazed, but they’re all still up and functional.

“Okay,” Jay says, taking a quick look around. There are a couple other, closed boxes in the truck bed, and he can see the two guys sitting in the cabin, Cap with his arm slung along the headrest. There’s no way for them to heave Jeff and himself over the side, plus they’d probably fall and shatter to pieces on the asphalt, but the tailgate is held in place with two heavy pins that they can probably get out.

“Chad,” he calls. “Do you think you can get those pins out?”

“Piece of cake,” Chad says.

“We’re gonna need to be fast,” Jeff cautions them. “If the humans realize something’s going on, they’ll pull over and fix it, and we’ll be screwed.”

“I can be fast with the pin.” Chad peers at the tailgate. “Not so good with getting over there and back, though.”

“Chevy, can you carry him across?” Jay asks.

The Chevy bobbles its hood up and down, and a moment later, it’s got Chad on its back, carrying him across the distance and to the first of the closures that Chad immediately latches onto. He groans and grunts, clip straining with the effort, and slowly but surely the pin slides open.

“Good, good,” Jay calls when it finally slips free, the tailgate gaping open just a little. “Now get back over here.”

Chad hop-skips on top of the Chevy, which bumps over the metal grating at the bottom of the truck bed but gets Chad across quickly, and he wastes no time latching onto the other pin. It jams a little when it’s almost all the way out, but Jeff wraps his cord around Chad’s base and yanks, and it comes free, the tailgate swinging down with a thump.

The blacktop whirls by with a speed that makes Jay dizzy just looking at it. He stumbles back a little, terror rising, but he can’t afford to chicken out now. “Come on,” he calls to the others. “As close to the edge as you can. Aim for the grass strip to soften your landing.”

“We gotta jump all of that?” Chad asks, and Sandy whimpers, but Jay won’t let himself think of that. He has to do this. He has to be strong now, for Jensen.

Glancing back, he sees the capless guy looking out through the truck’s back window and cursing, and yells “Jump!” as loud as he can.

He hits the ground hard, bounces once, twice, before he comes to a stop in the dead grass, a handful of eucalyptus trees shedding their leaves on top of him.

He blinks, disoriented, and looks around. There’s Jeff over there, phone cord tangled in an impressive clump, and that’s Sandy shaking the dirt out of her lamp shade. There’s the Chevy, in one piece aside from the hubcap lying a foot away, and Chad’s not far either, untangling his post card clip from the leaves.

“So what now?” Chad asks once he’s managed to sway his way upright.

“Home,” Jay says immediately. “We don’t know where Jensen is-”

“-and if we’re home, he’ll find us when he comes back to look,” Jeff finishes for him.

“ _If_ he comes back,” Chad mutters, but at least he looks sorry when the Chevy titters nervously.

#

They manage to rig up some kind of contraption where Jeff sits right on top of the Chevy, keeping the rest of them on board with the twirly cord protruding from his side, and Chad and Sandy help the Chevy push along the curb where the shoulder ends and the grassy rise they landed on begins.

The going is unbelievably slow, with them either having to stop and then start again from the beginning every time a car rolls by – and there are _a lot_ of them – or risking curious looks and pointing fingers. 

Finally, Jeff tips off the wheezing Chevy’s back. “This is enough,” he says. “It’s not worth the exhaustion like this. We can go tonight when there aren’t as many cars and they won’t see us as well.”

“How will we be able to see where we’re going?” Chad demands to know.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “This is LA, Chad,” he says. “We’ll be able to see where we’re going, trust me.”

#

Sure enough, even after the sun sets, it is still plenty bright enough for them to go on, and they all pile into a haphazard pile on top of the Chevy, Chad and Sandy propelling them along. The Chevy’s wheels grind in a worrying way, but it just keeps rolling along until Jay finally calls a halt. They can’t risk breaking the Chevy. Without it, they’d never get anywhere.

They flop down at the side of the road. They’re all exhausted, Jay can tell, even if no one admits it. And they don’t even know where they’re going, or what to do once they get there.

“Guys,” he says, but Chad shakes his head.

“Shush,” he says. “Do you hear that?”

Jay does – there’s scuffling somewhere close by, snuffling, and it’s enough to set them all on edge. A moment later, they see it – a dark shape moving through the grass, big, almost twice as big as Jeff. It could probably tear them apart if it wanted, and it’s heading straight for them.

“What is that?” Jay asks.

The Chevy comes squeaking closer on battered wheels and cuddles up against Jay’s side.

“It’s a raccoon,” Jeff tells him, voice hushed. “I’ve seen them on the TV. It’s probably hungry.”

They watch in silence as the creature comes closer, nosing through the undergrowth.

“But we’re not food.” Sandy curves against Jeff’s side. “So it should leave us alone, right?”

“Do you really want to risk it?” Jay asks.

The raccoon comes closer and closer, leaves rustling under its feet, and it doesn’t stop until it’s practically on top of Jeff, nosing at his dial wheel. Jeff lets out the shrillest ring he’s got, startling not only the raccoon but also Jay and Chad and Sandy, and the Chevy, if its hasty retreat behind Jay’s broad back is anything to go by.

Unfortunately, the raccoon recovers faster than any of them, sneaking back towards them, nosing at a whimpering Sandy’s base and then her bulb, and Jay sees their chance.

“Blind him! Now!” he calls, and Sandy clicks to life.

The animal hisses and cowers away from the brightness, unprepared for Jeff to launch his receiver straight at its nose, and with a loud yelp, it turns tail and runs.

Chad yells a few unsanitary insults after it, but Jay is too relieved to tell him off.

They wait in silence for a while, but the raccoon doesn’t come back. There are only a few cars on the road now, occasionally whooshing by, their headlights skittering across the trees. Despite the late hour, there are definitely birds singing somewhere around them. The Chevy yawns, little hood rising with the motion, and nods into Jay’s side. It’s probably exhausted after carrying them all for so long.

“Hey Jeff,” Jay calls. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

He’s expecting a fight, some sort of comment about how they still have forever and a day to go, but Jeff just turns and bobs his receiver in agreement. “Let’s get up there by those trees,” he says. “Just as a precaution.”

They make their way up the rise slowly, the Chevy crawling ahead, Jeff dragging everybody else with him, tied up in the phone cord. Once they’ve reached their declared sanctuary, the Chevy abruptly stops moving and refuses to budge another inch, and Jay falls asleep watching the others try to get comfortable on the uneven ground.

#

He wakes to the sound of a motor cutting out, and for a brief, shining moment, he thinks it’s Jensen come back to get him.

Then he peers around and realizes that’s a white van parked at the side of the freeway, not a red truck, and the words _Highway Clean-Up_ are stenciled on the side. Definitely not Jensen.

A man and a woman wearing bright yellow vests get out, armed with trash bags and spears, and they gesture a bit before they split up, the man heading away from their little hide-out, the woman towards it.

They lie quietly, praying and hoping, but they’ve had hardly any luck so far, so why should they start now? And sure enough, the woman hesitates as soon as she’s close enough to see them, then calls her partner over.

“Seriously, the shit people throw away,” she says. She picks up Sandy and gestures with her, the lamp stiffening in terror. “Seriously. IKEA still sells this stuff, and these people just dumped it all by the side of the road.”

“I’m not so sure.” The man picks up the Chevy and peers at it. “I think maybe this fell off a moving van or something. It’s way nicer than our usual haul.”

“Put it in the passenger seat,” the woman says. “We can sell it to that thrift store ‘round the corner when we get back.”

“What’ve we got?” the guy asks, looking around. “What,-- the lamp and the toaster, and the phone over there?”

“And the toy car,” the woman adds. “That’s a cool-looking one.”

Jay hears Chad suck in a gasp, and he sees Jeff lash out with the phone cord, shifting Chad to be more visible.

“What about the heart thingy?” the guy asks.

The woman laughs. “That ugly thing?” she scoffs. “Like anyone would buy that.”

“Just take it,” the guy says. “It’s not gonna hurt.”

“Fine,” the woman says. “But if the thrift store people laugh at us, I’m blaming you.”

She gathers them up, all five of them, thank God, and treks over to the van, opening the passenger door and piling them in the foot well. “Hello, payday,” she says, grinning, before she slams the door shut.

“Chad,” Sandy whispers, but Chad just turns away.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Chad,” Jeff says, but Chad says, loudly, “So how are we getting out of this one? Any ideas, Big Jay?”

Jay looks around. They can probably lever open the doors, hope that they can get away before the people with the yellow jackets catch sight of them – but then the door opens again and they both pile in, laughing.

“That was quick, thank fuck,” the woman says.

“You got that right,” the guy replies. “You wanna stop by the thrift store now or after lunch?”

“Now,” she says. “I’m feeling the deluxe burrito right now, and I need the cash for that.”

“Now it is,” the guy says, laughing, and starts the car.

#

The thrift store is a tiny place wedged between a dry cleaner and a taco place, and the clean-up people block the entire sidewalk and half the road parking in front of it. The woman almost drops Sandy getting out, but they manage to get inside without doing any permanent harm.

There’s a short, greying lady sitting behind the counter. “Buying or selling?” she asks, and the clean-up woman dumps all five of them in front of her.

“Selling,” she says. “You gonna take ‘em?”

The thrift store lady okays them all one by one, even Chad, but she hesitates when she gets to Jay. “It’s a bit damaged,” the lady says. “But I’m sure we can make it work.”

Jay flinches at the words, hoping against hope that the others haven’t heard. He knows he’s got scars. He’s old – older than all of the others, except for Jeff, and before Jensen, he went through a lot. He remembers those days far better than he likes. Long, endlessly long days of being smacked and cursed at, and then smacked some more when some little part invariably jammed.

And then Jensen picked him out at a garage sale one day, big hands warm and sure, and took him back to his crappy dorm apartment, and Jay’s life took a sudden, dramatic turn for the better. Because Jensen wasn’t like that. He didn’t treat his things like that.

Not that it was all roses and sunshine after that. There’s still a little bit of black ink on Jay’s side, where some drunken idiot once drew a penis after a party. Jensen got most of it back off after bitching the guy out, and Jay made sure to spit the dude’s toast straight into the sink.

So yeah, he went through some shitty stuff after, too, but at least he had Jensen. Jensen to sit with him and curse at the bastards who dented his side, Jensen to scrub and polish his exterior until he was all gleaming and shiny again, Jensen who wiped clean the serial number JX 350 on his side and promptly named him _Jay_.

Jensen, who he’ll never see again.

#

“Psst! Jay!” someone hisses, but Jay doesn’t turn. It doesn’t matter anymore what they have to say. Escape is pointless, because even if they did manage to get out of the store, the tiny little store where they sit on shelves, endlessly waiting for customers to come by and tear their little group apart, where would they go? They have no clue where Jensen went. They don’t even know if Jensen would want them back.

“Look, Jay, we can-” It’s Sandy this time, he’s sure of it. But she never has the chance to tell him what they _can_ , because that’s when the little bell above the door jingles and the sound of cars outside grows louder for a second, and they all freeze up.

“Hello?” a woman calls.

“Hi there,” the thrift store lady, lurking at the desk, replies. “Anything you need, or just looking?”

“Just looking,” the woman says, and somewhere above Jay, Chad lets out a breath.

“Come on, Jay,” he whisper-hisses. “We gotta get out of here now, while she’s distracted.”

“And do what?” Jay asks. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

“Get back to Jensen, of course,” Jeff says, and the clattering sound must be the Chevy’s hood bumping up and down in approval.

_Too little, too late_ , Jay thinks. Out loud, he says, “You go do that, then,” and closes his eyes.

“Jay!” Sandy tries again, but then the woman says, “I’ll take these,” no three feet away, and they all have to freeze for fear of giving themselves away.

Jay is pathetically grateful. He loves them all and he’s going to miss them, but he doesn’t want to have to deal with their pigheadedness right now.

“What about Jensen?” Chad hisses anyway.

“He’ll find a new toaster, I’m sure,” Jay says tonelessly. The thought stings, but it’s not as unbearable as it was yesterday. Maybe it’s just Jay’s time to go.

“You can’t just give up,” Sandy protests.

“I’m not giving up,” Jay says. “I’m accepting my fate.”

His friends’ protests fall quiet when the woman wanders over. She’s tiny, with long dark hair, and she has a thoughtful look on her face.

“Wait, wait,” she says to the cashier. “How much for the toaster?”

Jay can’t hear the cashier’s reply, but whatever she said, the woman must have liked it, because she reaches for Jay immediately. “I’ll take him,” she says.

Her hands are tiny, so unlike Jensen’s, as she tucks him into one of those beach bags with the netted sides that you can still see out of, but just barely. The last thing Jay catches sight of is Sandy’s stricken face before everything goes vague and blurry.

#

The woman likes to talk. She curses at the – apparently dismal – freeway traffic, she sings along to the radio, she chatters away on the phone. Jay doesn’t listen. It’s over, _over_. He’ll never see Jensen again, he’ll never see the others again, and he really hopes the woman who bought him isn’t hard up for cash because he can feel his insides dying at the thought of it. He can barely even muster up enough energy to be nervous when she pulls lopsidedly into a parking spot and declares that they’re ‘here.’

‘Here’ turns out to be an apartment on the second floor that she unlocks with much cursing.

“I’m back,” she calls once she’s wrestled the lock into submission, dropping her keys on the table by the door. She sticks her head through a doorway, where two vague shapes are on the sofa and a third hovers by the window. Jay still can’t see much, can only listen in on what she has to say.

“Hey, so I know you’re all bummed about your stuff, and that you can’t just replace something like that, but I figured I could maybe get you a substitute? I was looking for stuff to use as props, you know, and I saw this at a store, and I figured maybe it’s a bit like your Jay?”

She drags Jay out of her bag and holds him in her outstretched hands. Jay, blinking in the sudden brightness, barely has time to process the fact that that’s Jensen, actually _Jensen_ sitting there on the couch before the man bounds across the room and has Jay in his arms.

“This _is_ Jay,” he crows. “Hell, I’d recognize that dent anywhere. And that Sharpie mark.” He clutches Jay to his chest, and Jay’s heart soars. “Thank you so much, Gen. You’re the best.”

Someone laughs, and Jay vaguely registers that that’s Jensen’s friend Chris getting up from the couch, and Danneel over at the window, grinning wide.

“Jesus fuck,” Chris says, coming closer. “Talk about a coincidence.”

“Thank fuck, I’d say.” Danneel gives Jensen’s shoulder a pat. “I thought you were going to drown in all your emo tears.” But she runs her hand over Jay’s side, briefly, and Jay can see the smile she’s trying to hide.

“Screw you,” Jensen says. He snuggles Jay closer, grin spreading over his face, before he turns to the woman who brought Jay here. “Where on Earth did you find him?” he asks.

“Uh, a thrift store,” she says. “Secondhand Treasures, or something? Down on Park.”

“Did they have the rest of my stuff, too?” Jensen’s voice rises with excitement. “A, uh, a lamp, and a postcard stand, and stuff?”

“Maybe, I don’t really know. I only recognized the toaster.”

Jensen already has his phone out, googling one-handed, and waves Chris away when he tries to take Jay from him. “Secondhand Treasures,” he mutters. “Okay, here,” and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “Um, a friend of mine picked me up a toaster today, and I was wondering if you had any other stuff that came in with it?” His arms tightens around Jay. “Like, a vintage telephone, black and gold. And a postcard stand with that guy from Gilmore Girls on it – Rory’s not-boyfriend. The annoying one.” He laughs. “Yeah, I know, that was my favorite season too. So, uh, the stand, and then this tiny IKEA lamp, and a model of the ’67 Chevy Impala, in black.” He waits, clutching Jay so tight Jay’s a little afraid he might get dented, and then exhales sharply. “They are? Okay, can you, like, hold them for me? I’ll come get them later today. Seriously, put them in a box in the back or something. I’ll pay extra if they’re all still there.”

He hangs up and lets out a huge, gusty sigh. “God, my nerves,” he says. Then he turns to Gen, a gigantic smile spreading over his face. “Honestly, chicka, I think moving in with you was the best decision I ever made.”

#

Gen does love Jay, it turns out. She immediately okays Jensen moving Jay into the kitchen, a narrow affair that has a book shelf and a window seat that Jensen immediately claims for himself, placing Jay on one end and Sandy and Chad on the shelf on the other side.

He lingers for a long time, Jeff and the Chevy under his arm, before he finally goes to bed, and Jay spends most of the night looking out over the smogged-up rooftops of LA, watching the sky slowly turning lighter. Every time he nods off, he jerks in terror, but it only takes a quick glance over at Chad and Sandy to reassure him. He’s home. He’s safe.

Still, he’s more than a little relieved when there are the first signs of life from Jensen’s room: a quickly cut-off alarm, then five minutes later another, then footsteps shuffling around the room. Jay glances around, but Jensen doesn’t emerge for a while. Instead, Jay’s gaze lands on his friends, both of them stirring awake as well. Sandy bobs her bulb at him, Chad -- next to her -- wriggles the card Jensen’s clipped on, and Jay vibrates his levers in greeting.

Jay wants to ask them if they feel just as strung-out as he does, but then the door to Jensen’s room opens and the man emerges, hair piled up in an epic bedhead.

“Hey there, Jay,” he says. He gets out a half-finished bag of bread and a jar of jam. “Have a good night?”

He has, actually. Jay’s had the best night he can remember, despite everything, because he’s here, with Jensen, and Sandy and Chad and Jeff and the Chevy are all here with him, and Jensen’s having breakfast with him like Jay was sure he never would again.

Jensen twists his lips into a wry smile. “I still can’t believe I left a whole box just sitting on the curb like some kind of spaz,” he says, running a finger along Jay’s side. “And by the time I’d crawled back through lunch hour traffic, it was already gone.”

_It’s alright,_ Jay wishes he could say. _I’m back, after all, and we’re together._

Jensen lines up two slices of bread and pushes the lever down. “I’ve missed you, buddy,” he says after a moment. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

But the thing is, Jay does. If Jensen even feels a tiny little fraction of what Jay feels, then he must have had the worst two days of his life, and Jay wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all his Jensen. So he glows a little warmer, so Jensen can rest his socked feet against him, warm those cold toes, and hums in contentment.

Him and Jensen, they’re meant to be.

TheHappyEnd


End file.
